


He Who Wields Mjolnir

by Star_less



Series: the 'snips, snails, puppy-dog tails' verse [5]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avenger Peter Parker, Avengers Family, Based on a Tumblr Post, Complete, Desperation, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hurt & Comfort, Infantilism, IronDad & SpideySon, Irondad, Kid Peter Parker, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Not Canon Compliant, Omorashi, One Shot, One of My Favorites, Peter Parker Has a Family, Peter Parker Joins the Avengers, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Slice of Life, Superfamily (Marvel), Team as Family, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, avengers and hoco take place one after the other, op does what she wants, spideyson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 12:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17867264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: Hmm. Perhaps that was the last time he set up a bet with the God of Mischief’s brother.Lord knows what he’d taught him.Tony makes a bet with Thor. It results in nearly disastrous (cross-legged) consequences for one little Spiderling.





	He Who Wields Mjolnir

**Author's Note:**

> Let me explain. I have been writing a story about Peter as part of the Avengers family since this time last year. It is very long, around thirty chapters. However, recently I was re-reading it through and I didn't think it worked very well as a chapter fic. I was tempted to just stick the chapters up as standalone stories for you guys. Here's one of them. If it gets good attention, I might throw a few others up here too.
> 
> This contains mild omorashi [desperation to pee. no wetting]. The infantilism tag is in place not necessarily because there IS infantilism, but I tend to write Peter just a taaaad younger than he actually is. If this isn't your thing then click that backspace - choose a different path!
> 
> T for swears.

Mjolnir. It was a thing of pure beauty as far as Thor was concerned, and the God near always had it in his eyeline. For the rest of the Avengers, however, the Norse-given item was a thing of mystery - or annoyance, depending on where it turned up. Late in the evenings (when Peter had retired to bed, Tony was feeling nice and had cracked out the sharing-whisky) the Avengers would sit in a circle in the common room eyeing the hammer, as though they could lift it on sight alone, while Thor sat with them with a grin so smugly plastered over his features that he looked like a goddamned Ken doll (or at least that was what Tony thought.)

"Bullshit," the billionaire announced one evening, nudging a small glass of whisky at the hammer that was perched atop a table. "Bullshit. I've cracked your bullshit hammer, Thor."

"Oh?" The God asked, a serene, 'I don't think so' sort of smile on his face. "I don't think so, but if you do, then..." he swept his hand in a grandiose sort of way toward the hammer. "Go for it. Lift my hammer. I will place a bet that you do not."

"If I win?"

Thor shrugged as though it was the most obvious answer in the world. "Then you will be worthy and you will have the power of Thor." he told the billionaire in a theatrical sort of voice, as though this passage was something that he had recited many times. Tony's brow quirked. "And... if I don't lift it?"  
This time, the God didn't reply. His blue eyes glinted and sparkled in a way that was uncomfortably reminiscent of Loki. "You will see." he responded grandly after a moment of considering.  
Tony flexed his muscles lightly, scritched up his sleeves, and bit back a sour retort when Natasha, behind him, scoffed and proclaimed, 'No way. Not worthy. There's no way he's worthy and I'm not.'  
He rolled his eyes, grit his teeth and gripped the handle of the hammer, pulling quickly. The hammer didn't budge, although Tony's muscles worked with effort, quickly beginning to burn. What... what the fuck? No... if he didn't lift it... he wasn't letting Romanoff win. Grunting softly, Tony tried again. This time, his muscles positively scorched, and the lines of his veins grew visible in his arms... but still the hammer did not move. He stumbled back with the effort of trying, the edges of a pant catching in his teeth. 

"I told you. Not worthy." Thor smiled smugly.   
"Oh, Antosha," Natasha cooed with teasing delight, a gentle giggle fraying in her voice as she mocked. "маленькие креветка!"  
The hairs on the back of Tony's neck bristled unhappily. He scoffed at the redhead and backed away from the hammer, shaking his head with defeat. "Yeah. 'Kay. Not worthy." he agreed sullenly, "Not.." he waved at Natasha, "whatever you just said," with his lips pursing around a fresh mouthful of whisky as he nursed his bruised ego back to health. 

The subject was dropped as the team continued to drink and chat, unwinding hour after hour between them. At around 2:30 - just when everybody was winding down a little into merrily drunken slumbers - a fresh voice broke out over the silence. "Sir," the crisp tones of Jarvis floated down from the ceiling. "Mr. Parker appears to be in some sort of distress and is asking to see you. Can I send him in?"  
Tony looked to the ceiling, as though that was where Jarvis resided, and his eyebrows lifted in concerned surprise. "'Course." he agreed, slinging back the last mouthful of warm whisky, "Course, send him in."

~

"Mr. Parker," Jarvis cooed softly to the young teenager who, at present, was sat atop his bed with his fists at his eyes, trembling to boot. He... the dream... it was so real... he had fallen and Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark was...  
With no reply, the A.I. probed a little more gently. "Young sir, Mr. Stark is happy for you to visit him if you need a moment of calm." he reminded. Peter sniffled heavily in a way that made his breath shudder. "T- thank you Mr. Jarvis." he whispered and nodded, drying his eyes and pulling himself together a bit.   _Mr. Stark would... would never react like this, would he? It... it was just a silly dream. Mr. Stark wouldn't have been crying at a silly dream like that..._  
Nevertheless, Peter padded softly down the hall, pajamas pooling at his feet. As he got closer and closer to the door to the common room the noise of the chattering Avengers drifted to his ears. They... were all there. All there... having a good time... without him. Hesitantly, very hesitantly, the child peeked around the doorframe at the rest of the Avengers; too scared to speak and interrupt their moment of... happiness. They all chatted and drank amongst themselves, not registering Peter's presence in the doorway. Even Tony, who had promised Peter he could have some awake-time with the rest of the group, seemed lost in a conversation with Steve... he was laughing in a way that made his eyes sparkle. Peter stilled and hesitated, fidgeting. Perhaps... perhaps he should go back to bed...?  
No. Jarvis' words came to the forefront of his mind instantly. Mr. Stark is happy for you to visit if you need a moment of calm...   
Still hesitant, Peter licked his lips. "Mr... Mr. Stark?" he piped softly, voice quivering in a papery sort of way. "Mr. Stark... I hadda bad dream." 

"Ah, sprout, c'mere." Tony said, opening his arms. His voice sounded... funny, kind of lopsided and wobbly, so Peter guessed that Tony most certainly wasn't on his first whisky of the evening. Plus, Tony was offering him a cuddle - Tony never, ever offered him cuddles usually. And as for the pet name... (well, a majority of the Avengers called Peter by pet names actually; Thor called him the man of spiders, or sometimes the boy; Steve called him kiddo, so did Clint and Bruce, although they sometimes threw in a 'sport' too for good measure. Natasha called him all sorts of nicknames in Russian that Peter never could quite get around to deciphering.)  
Peter took a step forward, like an unsure cub about to take his first steps of freedom. He took another, then another before his feet finally came unstuck and he collapsed down tiredly close to Stark. Stark put his arm protectively on Peter's shoulder although Peter didn't dare lean into it... so it wasn't quite a hug. Eventually though the child relaxed... body slumping lower and lower, closer and closer to Stark, eyelids drooping, drooping still--  
and that was when he caught sight of it. As if by magic, Peter's eyes snapped open. "Mr. Stark," he mumbled, voice still ever so slightly slurred with sleepiness. "'Zat Thor's r'l hamm'r?"  
Stark chuckled softly and gestured to the God, who looked much less threatening to Peter (but still somehow so grandiose) in his ‘dressed down’ clothing. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”  
Peter dragged his sleepy eyes to Thor. “‘Zat y’r r’l hamm’r?”

Thor chuckled too, which made the nervous butterflies in Peter’s tummy wilt and die a little bit. “Yes, it is, spiderling.” he said, pulling it up from where it rested on the table and toying with it hand-to-hand to prove how easily he could handle the tool. He captured Peter’s attention easily and delighted in the fact that the child’s eyes, though tired, drifted to his left hand then his right as he played with the hammer. Eventually he set it down again in front of the child and so Peter’s eyes rested too, landing on the hammer handle. His eyelids dropped again.

“Hey,” Stark said suddenly, giving Peter a too-brutal shake to the shoulders and waking him with a jump. “You try, kid, you try liftin’ Mjolnir.”

”Uh?” Peter whimpered, but he quickly came-to at the prospect of being able to lift the actual really real Mjolnir, not just a toy. His eyes travelled to Thor once more. “Can I?” He requested, shyly.

”Can you? No.” Thor said. Peter recoiled into Stark in shock and was about to press an ‘oh’ through his trembling lips when the God quickly backtracked. “At least, I shouldn’t think so. But you can try, and maybe you will be worthy.” He relented, gesturing to the hammer. Peter was hesitant, but as soon as he was given the go ahead he leaned forward and clasped the handle of the hammer in both hands; a tight grip. A look of pure, childish concentration crossed over Peter’s face; he frowned, his lips parted and his tongue poked just-so through them. It was a comical expression, one that had forced almost the entire team into gibberishly grinning. Peter did not notice, for he was concentrating.   
He tugged once.  
Nothing.  
He grit his teeth harder, tugged twice. A ‘nnnghh’y sort of grunt fell from his mouth.  
Still it yielded nothing.   
The child tugged a final time, rising to a crouch and tugging so fervently that his pajama shirt rose to reveal his pale, flat tummy.  
Still he grunted, still the others laughed. But nothing.  
Tony put his hand on the small of Peter’s back as he attempted to stand and yank the hammer. “Alright, alright kid that’s enough. You’re going to strain something.” He pointed out, and Peter fortunately agreed - collapsing in exhaustion against Tony and shaking his head. “Not worthy,” he decided, rubbing his eyes and fidgeting just a pinch.

”Bedtime for you.” Steve agreed as he noticed the squirms, standing and encouraging the boy to head on up; ushering him out before Tony could even protest. Although, it wasn’t long before Tony too joined Peter (and the rest of their team) in slumber... and he had forgotten all about the sealed bet he had created with the God of Thunder - or more specifically, the God of Thunder who had spent just a trifle too long under the influence of his God of Mischief sibling...

~ 

The coffee maker was broken. 

So was the coffee percolator, funnily enough, but that had broken three days prior when Peter had tried to make a coffee (for Stark; the kid found it much too bitter to drink himself) and tripped over one of Clint's archery bows which he had left out by mistake. "It's okay," Tony soothed Peter when the kid looked at him tearfully, despite the fact his own nerves were frayed. But he had the coffee maker, he supposed he didn't need the percolator too. But this... this was something else. Tony's patience was stretched to its absolutely thinnest limit.

"Come on," Tony hissed at it, running a hand through his hair. He had slung a mug under the spout and gotten a few pathetic dribbles in return, but still Tony tried again. "Come on," he pleaded. The coffee maker whirred hopefully and Tony rose to his tiptoes expectantly, excitedly, like a child on Christmas morning as a few more slow brown pearls trickled into the mug. The whirring continued and as it did, a smile spread slowly over Tony's face. The whirring came faster... faster...   
and...died with a whine. Tony sank, swiping the mug from the maker and sighing agitatedly. "What's wrong with you?" He grunted, squinting at the maker at all angles. There didn't seem to be anything missing from the spout, and... he couldn't see anything blocking the spout, either...? Sighing, the tired tinkerer placed a hand on the maker to lift it and get a closer look at what could be the issue... and yet it did not budge. Tony's eyes widened. He tugged again, feebly, although it felt as though it took all of his strength to even nudge it. Suddenly... suddenly Tony got a tidal wave of deja vu. He frowned, hands fumbling blindly at the back of the machine until his fingers could just about - incredibly feebly, mind you - tickle the... oddly familiarly ridged handle of...  
Tony's belly twinged.   
No.  
His neck hair prickled.   
No. No. It wasn't- couldn't be-

That bastard. 

"Thor!" Tony bellowed. He didn't care if the God had to sit with his arm halfway up the machine covered in coffee beans and hot water, he was getting that goddamned hammer out and - more importantly - out of Stark's sight.

~

The hammer did not get out of Stark's sight. Stark had to stop and wonder whether this was Thor fucking with him, or whether the god damned hammer was somehow sentient and choosing to fuck with him... or, knowing his luck, a mixture of both. But, to make matters worse (as if the threat of a further coffee-less morning was bad enough) the next day Tony awoke and... and-- jesus fuck-- tried to heave some air into his lungs.   
Fuck. Shit. This was it. Ticker had finally kicked it. He was... he was dying. Had to be. The possibility had clawed venomously in the back of his mind so often nowadays that Tony almost didn't realise it; but here it was, the sucker punch to the chest, goodbye cruel world. So... so soon, there was so much more he could have done this morning at least... like have a decent fucking coffee, for one. And his eulogy... The Avengers... what would they possibly write in his eulogy? That duty would probably be delegated to everybody's favourite paragon of virtue, golden boy Steve Rogers himself. Oh. Great. What would Rogers say about him?  
'Here lies...' Tony imagined the star spangled saint gesturing to a coffin, the rest of the Avengers silent. He searched for something to say, found nothing, and shrugged.  
Tony huffed. No. No way was Rogers going to get away without singing Tony's praises at his own goddamn funeral. Just when Tony noticed the first airy fringes of panic descending in on his insides, he... he realised that, well, it was taking a helluva long time for him to arrive at the pearly gates, and that he imagined it being a lot more... pearly and white and, oh, he didn't know, full of Playboy Bunnies not... not like the-inside-of-his-own-eyelids with a tiny child yammering away somewhere in the distance. With that thought Tony crashed into full consciousness, eyes exploding open; his first instinct to jump up and give Rogers a piece of his mind... but moving struck a lightning bolt of pain right into his chest, stole those breaths from him once more. The destructive thoughts came back at once interweaved with anxiety that all but bowled him over. Oh God. Oh God... he really was... he was going to...   
Trembling, Tony tried to take as many deep breaths as he could, wriggling. Jesus Christ, it was like his chest was caving in... In a last ditch attempt for Tony to calm his breaths he imagined Pepper and she came to his mind's eye, kneeled in front of him, coaching him gently through the breathing exercises that they had practiced together - over and over, again and again until his frenetic heaves slowed to a calm. When they had (and the anxious cloud in his head had dissipated for a bit) Tony once again tried to sit up  
and...  
...and when he fought through the pain and succeeded found Mjolnir resting lazily on his chest, shaft in air. Tony did not grasp the handle and pull as every nerve in his body told him to, for he knew how that would end; he did all he could do, and grunted. "Thor..."  
Almost instantly, as if by magic, the hammer lifted off of Tony's chest and barrelled out of the room in the direction of its owner. Tony lay puddled in his bed for a long, long moment, heaving precious gulps of air into his lungs and rubbing the tender area on his chest where the hammer had rested until he had pulled himself together enough to wrench himself from the duvet. 

Point Break was going to get his ass beat. 

~

Point Break appeared to know that he was due an ass beating (of the non fun variety) considering all of the hammer shenanigans dribbled to a stop after the whole, 'make Tony feel as though he's dying more than usual' debacle. After a few days of nothing out of the ordinary, Tony finally felt as though he could stop looking over his shoulder with paranoia at whatever scheme the God was going to throw at him next. Just after breakfast one morning was when Tony realised with relief that his anxiety had calmed considerably. Peter was bouncing softly next to him at the breakfast island, and a hand came to tousle his hair without Tony quite realising it. "Morn', kiddo." he greeted warmly. "Nice breakfast?"

"Mmmmhm," Peter nodded cheerfully, still bouncing over his own toes. "Thank you for my chocolate chip waffles, Mr. Stark. Oh, the apple juice too." he squeaked shyly. Tony chuckled at him, which only served to brighten his blush. "Kiddo, do you need to visit somewhere...?" he asked lightly. The young boy looked up at him, puzzled, but then his cheeks positively ignited. "Oh!" he stammered, bunching the fabric of his pajama pants in his fists. "U uhm... no, Mr. Stark, I'm just fine." he lied. The child felt bad for lying to Stark, and it needled in the back of his mind that Stark was going to find him out, but... he was getting rather embarrassed with having to admit his bathroom habits to the rest of the adults in the tower. His heart sunk just slightly as Stark squinted at him, searching him inside out. "Mmm." Tony murmured, absorbing the slightly-too-hyperactive-for-early-morning fidgeting going on. "Don't think so, sprout. Go spring a leak and come on back." he urged softly. 

Peter positively scorched at being found out, but he certainly didn't deny it. Darting away from the elder, Peter skittered on over to the closest bathroom there was. Only when he had privacy did the potty dancing return, the young teenager tugging at his pajama pants and anxiously looking for the bathroom door. Oohf. He really... really had to go this morning. Thankfully, the bathroom door was already slightly ajar, and so Peter squirmed his way inside as quickly as his little (tense) legs could carry him. As if by magic, the sight of the toilet only served to make his bladder pulse harder. "I'm going, I'm going!" he squealed in an attempt to calm his protesting bladder, toes curling nice and tight against the polished floor. Hands trembling, the teenager made quick work of his pajama pants and pulled out, squirming coming to a slow stop. Peter was juuuuust on the very edge of relaxing - that thin verge between not peeing a drop and letting it all go in one long, lazy, rush when just as abruptly he stilled, realising something was very, very wrong. Stuffing himself back into his pajamas, Peter was too panicked to even care about the hot sliver that went cascading down his leg and darted away from the toilet as though he had set it on fire.   
Holy shit.   
Holy shit he had... he had...  
He had nearly _peed_ all over Thor's hammer. The tool was resting, handle up, on the closed lid of the toilet. Peter knew that he couldn't lift it off, so... so there was nothing else to do but leave it. A tingly sort of shiver went down Peter's spine as he shakily exited the bathroom, every part of his being wanting to stay. But he left, and as he did Mr. Stark's voice floated to his ears. "Kiddo? Peter, come help me with your training."  
Peter's heart sank but... but it was hardly as if he could say, 'no! wait! I have to go pee!' and so he remained tight lipped and cross legged as he wandered back out to his mentor, calling, "Coming, Mr. Stark!"

It turned out that Peter walked straight out of the bathroom and into an afternoon of 'training', which was comprised of a mixture of helping Stark complete work in his workshop, and outdoor training to help Tony understand just what modifications he needed to make to Peter's suit, if any. The indoor workshop stuff wasn’t too bad, in all honesty… in fact, Peter was finding it quite easy to lean into the corner of the desk and give himself a squeeze or two. Mr. Stark didn’t seem to be paying too much attention to him anyway, so the young teenager didn’t mind too much if his hands were trembling or if he needed to jam his legs together. Keeping quiet was… slightly more difficult, for Peter had to bite back the breathy sighs that threatened to spill from his mouth if his bladder pounded too much, and sure, toward the end of the session Peter found his eyes trained on the clock, willing desperately for time to zoom by… but he managed. “Is… is that all?” Peter squeaked hesitantly once a hour and a half had passed and their indoor work had died down. By this point his bladder was pounding, and Peter rather felt as though he was carrying a water balloon between his legs - albeit one that was much heavier and hotter and… dribblier. Oh, he had to pee so badly, so badly - in fact Peter was sure he had never needed to pee as bad as this in all of his days. Please, please say we’re all done… Peter silently pleaded Stark, teeth latched worriedly onto his lower lip as he swayed urgently back-and-forth on his feet. He could see the doorway to the closest bathroom just out of the corner of his eye, and he swore it was calling to him or something, judging by the urgent fluttering that collected in the deepest pit of his belly. Mr. Stark chuckled a low sound of disbelief, tearing Peter’s gaze away from the doorway. “No, Peter, now begins your outdoor training.”  
Peter tried his hardest to not screw his face up in upset, swallowing back the thick lump that had appeared in his throat without his permission. “Okay, Mr. Stark.” He whispered, hating how soft and unsure he suddenly felt. He must’ve looked a little off, as even Stark startled a little and (after some hesitation) proposed, “This one won’t last as long, it’ll only last a hour or so.”

‘A hour or so’ was a hour too long. Peter was trembling something fierce as Mr. Stark instructed him to put his Spidey suit on and then led him outdoors. The suit clung on in all the wrong places, squeezing Peter’s midriff. It… it almost felt like Peter was going to… was going to… right here…  
No. No. He couldn’t. Shaking his head (and trying his hardest to ignore the shudder that crawled down his back) Peter tried to force these thoughts to the back of his mind. “What do you need me to do, Mr. Stark?” He asked shakily, shifting foot to foot.  
Perhaps if… if he could just focus on working for Stark, the pulling sensations in his bladder would drift away some…?  
Nevertheless his voice was a little croaky; Peter grimaced, but knew Stark wouldn’t notice.  
“Oh,” Tony murmured thoughtfully. “Just try some basic flips and web slings so I can test out your traction, kid.” He instructed, standing back. 

Peter braced himself, squeezing his tightly tucked in legs. Flips…? Flips meant… having to move his legs… gingerly, the teenager moved them just an inch or two. Even just the tiniest movement caused an uncomfortable pulling in his nether regions and he whimpered unsurely, all too aware of Tony’s steely eyes boring into his back (and likely wondering why he wasn’t moving.)  
Biting back the panic, Peter gave himself a short running start before leaping forward, legs outstretched. In that moment, time seemed to slow down and gravity seemed to crush in on him. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for impact; landing shakily in a heap on the ground a short way away. His heart pounded as much as his bladder did and his breath came in broken shaky gulps. Blindly, the young teenager pawed at his crotch while he had the chance, feeling warmth spurt through his fingers. _Was it blood or was he… was he peeing…? Please... oh please, don't let it be.._  
Squeezing his eyes shut, Peter whimpered slightly. Mr. Stark couldn’t see the tears building in his eyes from beneath the Spider Man mask, and that he was thankful for.

“Kid…” Stark frowned, puzzled. “Are you okay?”

Peter had meant to reply calmly, he really had… but all that came out was a sort of breathy cry. “I- I have to go to the bathroom,” he pleaded softly, hand traveling to the crotch of his suit to give himself a light squeeze. Almost immediately once the words had fallen out of his mouth, a blush deepened on his cheeks. God. Here he was, THE Tony Stark right there, and he was crying like a baby.  
The atmosphere built, achingly shameful, he and Stark staring one another down. Eventually, Tony strode over to Peter and peeled back the Spider-Man mask. There, staring right back at him, was the pitifully swollen and tearstained face of one Peter Parker. 

“Peter…” Stark murmured and his voice was soft. “Go.”

“Are you sure Mr. Stark? I- I..” He could wait-- he could--he HAD to wait, he had to hold it.

“Go, Peter.”

Peter quivered. His lip trembled. “Mr. Stark, I- I can’t.” He eventually said, voice forlorn. His hands were bunched up in fists at his sides and he marched on the spot. Tony was eyeing him, but this declaration forced a frown onto his face. “What do you mean, ‘can’t’, Peter?” He clarified, voice rising. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

He was on the edge of getting Jarvis to run all sorts of tests on the boy and cart him off to the nearest ER, when Peter piped up again. “T- Thor’s hammer is there. I can’t.” 

Goddamnit, that bastard was really in for it now.  
~

“Thor!” Tony bellowed only mere minutes later as he stood in the bathroom with Peter and stared down at Mjolnir. He had tried his best to persuade the child in spraying down a tree because Jesus Christ was the fidgeting getting to him, but still Peter refused. ‘Why don’t you use any of the other bathrooms, kiddo, that’s what they’re here for’ was his next question - although that too was (upsettedly) thrown back in his face. “I can’t, Mr. Stark,” Peter wailed, hands gripping his lower half tightly. He whimpered, then snivelled as the fire in his voice died out. Shit, thought Tony.  
That... wasn't a good sign. “...They’re… they’re too far away.”

Shit, shit, shit. Of course they were. “Thor!” Tony bellowed again when the God still refused to make an appearance. 

Finally, with the softest rumble of thunder, appear Thor did - laughing to himself. “Anthony, you finally found it. Oh, I thought you weren’t going to. This has made my day.” He said cheerfully. He seemed not to tune in to the fidgeting child in front of him, instead flashing one of those smugly perfect smiles right through Tony’s retinas. 

Bastard.  
“Not me,” Tony hissed urgently, indicating Peter. “Him.”

Thor’s eyes finally seemed to travel down to Peter, fidgeting upsettedly all over, and he gasped aloud. “Oh, spiderling, I am so sorry.” He cooed, looking from Peter to the hammer to Tony and back again. “I’ll take care of that.”“Uh yeah, now would be good!” Tony barked at the God, seeing Peter’s face crumble and his legs move in even tighter. Thor gasped again and in a blink the hammer was gone. Not even a second after the hammer disappeared had Peter gasped, shoved past both adults and was hurriedly yanking himself free from his suit. “Sorry!” He squealed sheepishly as a thick stream started to gush down into the toilet below. His shoulders drooped with relief. 

Tony sighed, rubbing his temples. Thor had already disappeared, giving Peter privacy. “No problem, kiddo, but try not to leave it so long next time?” He pleaded. 

Another sheepish nod from the teen as he bit back a breathy little sigh. Shaking his head and batting away the fondness - the kid was just peeing, for Christ’s sake, Tony stepped out of the bathroom. 

Hmm. Perhaps that was the last time he set up a bet with the God of Mischief’s brother. 

Lord knows what he’d taught him.

**Author's Note:**

> "маленькие креветка" = little shrimp.
> 
> I am SURE there's a Tumblr post that headcanons this but I can't find it.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this. if you did, I will show you more. please leave a comment or a kudos. I love them and they keep me writing like this!


End file.
